Wednesday, December 30, 2009

When Christmas songs are no longer playing wistfully on the radio, and you cease to hear familiar or timeless melodies of past Christmases, what is there to do?You, the reader of this blog, may say that there's always New Year's Eve, that there is still one excuse left this year for us to keep singing the songs and keep the Christmas decorations up, almost as if the holidays were to last forever...But doesn't that feel like we're cheating ourselves, that we are no longer embracing the precious values of how Christmas only comes once a year?

This sometimes worries me to the point that I make the decision to never put out the spirit and light of my Christmas tree that sits proudly in my living room, because I never want Christmas to end, and because I--like everybody else I'm sure--don't want the happiness and sleigh bells to die out into the daily routines of what we call life.But then I think about how this horrible yet strengthening transition is not our time to suffer, but is merely our opportunity to cherish the times we had in the past few weeks of Christmas season, and to value the things we have in our lives everyday just as much as we value the carolers and Christmas movies.It allows us to stop ourselves from taking our lives for granted. It stops us from becoming greedy and wanting more and more, such as if one were upset after Christmas because no more Christmas presents appeared magically under their tree.

Even though I admit I am listening to a Christmas CD right now, I am listening to it because I want to enjoy the last few days of the season where anything is possible and where everything comes in to the best of light and in the very least of shadow. I believe that after new year's eve has passed, I will be able to put myself together and find happiness and cheer in everything that I do, despite the lack of red and green that I may see from then on.

Maybe this is only displayed in my mind, but I don't care to find out.

The french toast served, the cafe latte presented. Exactly the way I like it.

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This is a short poem I wrote, inspired by a trip my family and I (except for my sister, who due to her lazy yet relaxed nature decided to sleep in :) ) made to a nearby restaurant for breakfast this morning.

It's one of those restaurants where you feel like you own the place, because of how intimate everything is (since it's not a chain restaurant) and how friendly everybody is to one another.

Sometimes I feel like I never want to leave.

Now this is also the kind of restaurant that offers as much food as a person can possibly, humanly eat. The pancakes are not pancakes, but they are two ginormous fluffy discs of deliciousness sandwiching brandied walnuts, diamond-like poppy seeds and warm apple slices that are smothered in cinnamon-flavor. And the eggs--you guessed it--are not eggs, but they're masses of pillows that are sun-colored and that secretly hide mushrooms, tomatoes, spinach and olives that peer through with admiration.

My parents, with not even the slightest amount of hesitation, asked for the amazing (that's an understatement by the way) french toast (dusted with powdered sugar by the perfect amount) and mediterranean omelette. And my 8-year-old brother eagerly ordered a mountain of coziness (in other words, a hot chocolate; please excuse my enthusiastic descriptions of food that go so far sometimes as to not even sound like food! :P).

Me, well because I had told myself the night before to not overeat and to allow my stomach not to become suffocated from overpleasurizing myself in food, I heard my mouth pronounce the words "I would like a whole grain bagel please," as I finished scanning the miles and miles of varieties of bagels staring back at me.

The bagel, like everything else in and about the restaurant, was delicious; the bagels are undoubtedly the fluffiest I've had, as they always come with the sides of raspberry jam and apricot jam that I can never ignore.

I also washed down each bite of my whole grain bagel with my tall cafe latte, that stood proudly in a tall glass cup and that was topped with a cloud of foam from the steamed milk.

I could go on for another hour about each bite I took out of my bagel and about how satisfying the last sips of my latte were...And even about the tantalization of each helping I had of my parents' french toast and omelette...But I'll stop here so I could allow you the freedom to imagine it :) .

When we left the restaurant (counting it as our millionth trip there), I told myself I was extremely thankful that I had the potential to take a trip to Heaven for an hour or so, in a small delicious building that stood only a few minutes (by driving) away.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

I've enjoyed this song for the majority of my life, not because of the lyrics (probably because I never knew exactly what they said no matter how many times I've listened to it), but because of the strong ties I feel it stands with my mother who has always claimed it as her all-time favorite song, as I always find myself in an almost rare state of total relaxation whenever I hear the guitar strings play and the voices of the lead singer carry on through the essence of the song.

I honestly didn't even read the lyrics below, but I hope you will enjoy them as much as I've been enjoying every second of its inner and background music layouts. :) :

Lyrics, Hotel California by The Eagles

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hairWarm smell of colitas, rising up through the airUp ahead in the distance, I saw shimmering lightMy head grew heavy and my sight grew dimI had to stop for the nightThere she stood in the doorway;I heard the mission bellAnd I was thinking to myself,'This could be Heaven or this could be Hell'Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the wayThere were voices down the corridor,I thought I heard them say...

Welcome to the Hotel CaliforniaSuch a lovely place (Such a lovely place)Such a lovely facePlenty of room at the Hotel CaliforniaAny time of year (Any time of year)You can find it here

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bendsShe got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friendsHow they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

So I called up the Captain,'Please bring me my wine'He said, 'We haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine'And still those voices are calling from far away,Wake you up in the middle of the nightJust to hear them say...

Welcome to the Hotel CaliforniaSuch a lovely place (Such a lovely place)Such a lovely faceThey livin' it up at the Hotel CaliforniaWhat a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)Bring your alibis

Mirrors on the ceiling,The pink champagne on iceAnd she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'And in the master's chambers,They gathered for the feastThey stab it with their steely knives,But they just can't kill the beast

Last thing I remember, I wasRunning for the doorI had to find the passage backTo the place I was before'Relax,' said the night man,'We are programmed to receive.You can check-out any time you like,But you can never leave!'

Monday, August 31, 2009

Is it just another daily routine that we have to put up with, that makes us feel like slaves in the kitchen, spending what feels like loathing distances of eternity throwing spices and grilling meat just so that other people can greedily thrust it all down their throats in 10 minutes?

Or is it an opportunity you are given to express yourself in every way--in every spice you dash in the pot, in every splash of dry wine you allow to sink into the chicken as you hear sparkling crackles of the cooking doing its work--and to envelope yourself in the comfort of man's most prized possession, which is food of course, and appreciating that every taste that then enters your mouth (as you sit down to eat with your family and friends) will enter with substance and spontaneity to please the belly and the heart.

I have always been fond of food and cooking, but only a few weeks ago I started taking action on that fondness. I began looking through recipes of a cookbook I've held on to for years but never used, and it's got one of those "make it in 30 minutes!" titles...That title is what I probably see at least 100 times each time I look in the cooking section of a library or bookstore.

But anyways, I've been cooking actual meals (instead of just making brownies, pancakes and cakes, which used to be the only food-creating action I ever did in the kitchen) every few days for my family, and all the meals were for the purpose of eating at dinner time.

On my first night of cooking, I made mushroom brown rice coup with a shortcut nicoise salad and, for dessert, a ginormous strawberry souflee. I spent about two and a half hours trying to prepare this meal, the first hour of it I had spent chopping mushrooms, onions and other vegetables. After carefully (and almost being painfully obsessively cautious) pouring the soup into a snow-white bowl and tossing the french salad (it was slightly spicy because the dressing contained dijon mustard and white vinegar, plus a toss of chopped shallot), I felt like I had just finished running a 5-mile marathon. I was completely exhausted yet totally satisfied that I had made it through my first session of for-real meal cooking, and my family was surprised and excited about what I had accomplished. They did also sprinkle a few pieces of advice about what to do next time I make this meal, like how I should add more salt, more mushrooms, and more dressing to the salad.

Plus, when I donated a half hour after dinner to make the soufflee, it turned out delicious but it also made me realize that I don't like the way soufflees taste, so I decided to never make a soufflee again.

I guess that's where the wonder of learning comes in, where you sometimes just have to make a mistake in discovering an unknown territory in order to realize how you feel about it, and whether or not you are willing to set your foot in that territory again. I, as a beginner cook, made the mistake (I guess that's the work I would use to describe it, but not my family because I guess they enjoyed the dessert) of making the soufflee, and therefore I realized that I do not like soufflees. (And if you are reading this blog, please excuse me if I've spelled the last gajillion mentions of the word "soufflee" because I did see the red underlining that comes up when you've spelled a word wrong, but for some reason I can not use the right-click button to correct it.)

On the second night, I re-tossed up the nicoise salad that went along with a dish named (in the cookbook) Chicken with Pears and Marsala. I was ecstatic to make this, but the problem was that I didn't have time to buy the specific type of pears (Bosc or Anjou pears), and that I didn't have marsala wine. But my parents suggested that I pick some of our backyard-grown japanese pears from the tree we have, and that I pour out the wine from a random bottle we had stored in a cupboard above our refrigerator. At first I was frustrated by these ideas because I wanted to make the meal based solely on every little detail that the recipe conveyed, but by the time I had finished washing and chopping the japanese (not Bosc/Anjou!...I sometimes still burst out in frustration at that) pears I decided to try and embrace the new and unexpected. Also, that perhaps I may run into something even better than what I thought the recipe would hold in store for me.

When I once again sat down to eat the dinner with my family, my parents were again (as always) encouraging and appreciative of the finishing product. I felt that the cooked pears were a little crunchier than I wanted, but then I was surprised by how nicely that complimented with the soft juiciness of the chicken that was almost smothered in the wine (and I was also surprised to discover how much tastier the chicken had turned out when I added the wine, regardless of what kind of wine it was :) ).

From that night on, I decided to let go of the notion that I always have to follow a recipe that I would turn to, and that I can use my inventiveness and creativity sometimes to make my own spin of that recipe.

That's why, last night, I cooked (not the slaving-in-the-chamber-we-call-"kitchen" type of cooking, but undeniably the Oh-I-can't-wait-to-watch-my-family-eat-what-I-am-making type of cooking!) something I made up slightly based on the "chicken with pears and marsala"--It was chicken and wine with a stir-fry of chopped nectarines, apples, red bell peppers, and onions, along with walnuts, cinnamon and curry powder.

I ended up enjoying this meal almost as much as the other two meals I had made, probably because it was much sweeter with the addition of fruit that I had thought of.

But even more than that, it must have been the great feeling of accomplishment I got and haven't yet let go of, by my discovery that I have the potential to take anything beyond the pages of a recipe.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

I love the booming voices of laughter and lively conversation that seem to bounce around the brightly-colored walls of the Starbucks store, as I occasionally feel even more at home by the coffee machines doing their work to make the cups of heavenly warmth that every person undoubtedly loves.

I also love the first few moments of daytime when I wake up, and I look outside my window but all that I see and hear and feel is the light chirping of the morning birds that brighten up the world from its deep sleep.

Another sound that I adore is the one a person living in a beach house would feel attached to; the sound whose word seems to be the only word that person may find in the dictionary, because it's the only sound that communicates with them to their very core, bringing them an ultimate sense of peace that should never be interrupted by the normal stresses of life (jobs, etc.); and that sound is no other than the ocean crashing along the shore.

A beach house owner may always be given the feeling of freedom to flee (wow, that's a nice alliteration I just added) whenever he/she wants, from whatever stress they would feel at the time, or just for the many times they feel like wrapping him/herself in the refreshing blanket that the sea and the atmosphere within the beach house throws on them.

Why should not everybody own a beach house? It seems like such a rarity, but that's probably because the area that I live in has the type of climate that doesn't often allow for that kind of relaxation...Yet regardless of the weather, you would always be given the chance to enjoy yourself resting comfortably in a cozy chair on your balcony, while watching the crisp, blue pulses of the ocean pulling back and forth in front of you, with newer layers of sand piling in uneven yet perfect layers in this almost fairytale setting.

Part of my future plan is to buy a beach house, which you probably would have figured out by now :) . Not only have I already set my mind to this goal, but I have also thought (however not yet decided) about how I'd like to decorate it.

Lately, during my past few visits at Barnes & Noble, I've found myself wandering about the home decorating section in the magazine rack. I remember picking up a very heavy and thick, yet softly-pictured in calm shades of blue, magazine about the Parisian style of home decorating; I thought of purchasing it, until I discovered that the price was much higher than I would have wanted :P .

But that doesn't mean I'm still not scavenging for suitable bundles of creativity (aka home decorating magazines :D). Hopefully, I'll soon come across one that speaks the very same view of a "perfect home" to me as the way that I've spoken these ideas to myself.

However, I'm not perfectly sure how I would want my future beach house--or any house in general that I may buy in my future--to look like, whether I want it to look modern with its walls almost suffocatingly covered with paintings by people I've never heard of (though if I think about that idea longer I may like my house to look that way, since I love paintings regardless of who created them out of their inner images; I shouldn't be pessimistic about that); or if I want my home to look French and fancy, with laces and curtains matching the exact shade of the pillow cases;

Or if I want my future place to contain a look based entirely on my first instincts, my truthful preferences, and my personality; the way to decorate this way would be if I went along with pieces of the house instead of deciding firmly what to do with the entire place at once.

This is how my mind works in every situation. I don't like to decide on one big, general thing and act on it without ever changing my decision; I feel like if I want something to look the way I want it, even if I'm just talking about this blog I'm typing right now, I would rather decide little by little what I want to do in each part and have everything broken down.

With this method, I have felt more confident with my decisions because if I made a decision all in one, I would have eventually altered it because of some problems/mix-ups I would have run into along the way.

This is the way I think of things, though I don't want to stay firm on it; I would like to be open to different ways to deal with obstacles, challenges, and successes.

And whether or not I am feeling stressed out by it, there is never a time where I wouldn't like to stop to think about the things that I love, such as the rain, the morning birds, and the crashing ocean waves. :)

Saturday, August 15, 2009

I feel like food is one of the most important things a human could even begin to feel grateful for having in his or her life...I even come to the point of worshipping food, and any food, even if I were talking about a small chipped piece of walnut found abandoned and stuck in the corner of a container...Is it normal for me to think of food this way?

When I get hungry, meaning in my definition if I haven't eaten in at least two hours, I become increasingly anxious and occasionally my heartbeat quickens as if I'm watching a very, very slow second-hand of a clock trying to push upward against gravity to reach past the last fragments of time for a boring science class to finish and to release me into the warm, open arms of freedom (not that I ever hated science class that much in high school, but when I talk about it as a simile to my hunger for food I feel like I detested it). And if I do find that food stands within my near reach, or in the comfort of my kitchen, I grab a small handful of walnuts or a bowl of berries and I am completely satisfied; I feel my entire body relax and back in its natural (and rightful) state as I munch slowly to take in every spark of taste that seems to appear in my imagination, and I can't help but automatically look forward to the next time that I can eat.

But if I see that food cannot be found close to me, I instantly panic and I feel detached from my mind and sanity, as my heartbeat quickens even more and I forget all the thoughts that preceded the thoughts I had about what I should eat.I then lose all capacity to think of anything other than food--anything other than the possibility of allowing a spoon of vanilla frozen yogurt to melt on my tongue, or the familiar feeling of a warm stream of Starbucks chai latte flowing down my throat and into the very core of my inner peace and serenity. Nor can I throw out the luminous dream of hearing the light sizzles of a pan smothered in olive oil, as I make myself a cheese omelette while my ears are decorated by the soothing melodies of French music coming from my stereo near the kitchen.

If more and more time passes on of not eating food (perhaps because I have forgotten to bring food to a meeting where no snacks are served; or because I am sitting in Barnes & Noble that's right next to a Starbucks and I had already made up my mind that day that I won't spend any more money that week), I become convinced that the time is moving slower and slower almost to a stop. My frustration adds up and I can no longer breathe. And my mood begins to plummet as I become desperate even to the point of thinking I could munch on Starbucks napkins right now.

But once I start munching on those walnuts or start taking out the chilly low-fat yogurt, blueberries and the crunchy cereal from the cabinet and fridge to make myself a parfait, I am relieved and have come back to life. My sanity comes back to me like an old friend, and I tell it that it needs to work harder to stay with me the next time this disaster happens. I have pursued the seemingly-distant dream of satisfying my stomach and my inner being, and I am proud to have accomplished it.

Sometimes, I think about the scene in the adorable movie Something's Gotta Give where Jack Nicholson's character and Diane Keaton's character find themselves in bathrobes and pjs in the middle of the night, standing barefoot in the kitchen and making pancakes, discovering that they have a meaningful connection with each other. And when Erica (Diane Keaton's character) begins to leave the kitchen because she remembers that Harry (Jack Nicholson's character) is dating her daughter (if this phrase that you just read has shocked you because you haven't seen the movie, and the phrase has therefore distracted you from the point of this blog, please watch the movie so that you can get the real perspective of it since it's not that scandalous in the movie), Harry hopefully (and somewhat sadly) asks her, "You don't want pancakes anymore?"That question always struck me during the movie no matter how many times I've watched it, because it really shows the way that food can play alternate roles in people's lives when we least expect it. If Erica and Harry hadn't arranged to meet in the kitchen, and Erica hadn't offered to make pancakes for the two of them, they might have missed their chance to see themselves in each other's eyes. (Wow, that phrase could not have sounded cheesier :P).

And do I want pancakes anymore? Of course I do, because I just heard my stomach growl and I am hungry for some leftover pancakes I made for my family just this morning. :)

Friday, August 7, 2009

So this morning, the first thing I did after waking up--even after I gazed outside at the what people call dreary and muggy (yet normal, in the Seattle area at least) weather of gray clouds--was deciding that I'd go out jogging at the downtown park. My mother seemed surprised when I shared this decision with her, when she invited me to do aerobics with her; I even surprised myself in fact, since usually I like to stay indoors when it's cold outside.

On my drive to the park, I felt as if no thoughts had entered my mind, which is an extreme rarity in my case. I had the radio on, as always, and I kept changing the stations because almost every other one was in the middle of commercials (I'm someone who has absolutely NO patience for radio commercials!!). But eventually, I left myself listening to a jazz station, leaving me at peace for the rest of the ride.

Once I got there and began walking towards the circular path while trying to untangle my ipod earphone wires, I immediately realized how cold the air was especially comparing to the amazingly (yet sometimes frustrating) hot weather we had in the weeks before. Though I'm someone who prefers cold to hot--partially because that means I get to wear scarves and cute jackets--, these first few minutes of walking were a little difficult.

But as I got to running through the path surrounded by trees and green while listening to U2, Carla Bruni, and the rushing waters coming down in the waterfall next to me, I felt myself becoming totally immersed in the atmosphere, even when I could feel my cheeks becoming stiff and cold (which explained how hard it was for me to smile when people walked past me). I could feel the nature-loving part of myself emerge, and maybe that was the reason I ended up running an entire mile without stopping! I also ended up walking another mile, after which I needed to take a break so I rested on one of the benches for a few minutes; I could feel myself begin to fall sleep, but even with my eyelids feeling heavy I looked up towards the rustling, pure-green leaves floating in the cool breeze, and I already felt as if I dozed off into a dream.

On my drive back home (actually, scratch that--I drove to Barnes & Noble, which is literally my second home considering the number of times I go and how comfortable I feel there), I had a strong sense of pride, exhaustion, and peace hovering about me. The jazz music on the radio wasn't enough to satisfy me, so I decided to pull down one of the windows so that I could hear the noises of the city roll inside my car (the sound of cars rolling by, pedestrians in mid-conversation, etc.).

I would share with you my millionth trip to B&N, but that would lead me to write another gazillion pages, as I don't want to break any of my fingers, so I'll leave this blog as it is now :) .

Monday, July 27, 2009

Here it goes, everyone--I have finally dived and began committing to a relationship...that is, a relationship with the health and being of my own body--In other words, I have for once been able to stick to a plan in which I eat no sweets, dairy (which is almost painfully difficult for me to even think about because all my life I've lived and breathed on a carb-and-dairy diet!), or any junk food/drinks. This is Day 6 of the amazing adventure I've put myself into, and I feel it's been long enough to say that I'm extremely proud of how far I've come :) .

It all started about a week ago when I went to my dentist appointment...; I want to take a moment to express the horror I've had of going to the dentist for the past few years, because of how badly I had been taking care of my teeth and my own body by spending 90 percent of my awake time eating sweets and ignoring people's advice (and ignoring the voice echoing in my head) to get serious about exercising.

Anyways, my dentist appointment basically led to a broken jaw (don't worry, I didn't actually break my jaw..that was an overstatement) and to a draining of all the energy that could possibly be contained in me. This is because I had to lie on the chair (which I notice every time I sit in it that it's probably the coziest/comfiest--is that a real word??--chair I've ever sat in :P) for literally 2 hours with my mouth open while my dentist and his coworker did three fillings in my teeth.

As I felt my jaw getting weaker and weaker during those two tedious (yet somewhat exciting because of the random-looking tools that went in and out of my mouth) hours, I realized that I had brought this destruction all on myself--Since I was 9 years old, I have probably gotten an estimate of 10 fillings, all because I barely flossed (only because it was extremely hard to get in the habit of it, so every time I tried flossing I gave up after a week or two of pushing myself...until now, but I'll get to that later) and didn't watch what I should and should not eat. Plus I was always the member of the household who would finish a carton of chocolate milk or a box of oreo cookies a week after it was purchased from the grocery store, and I even barely tried leaving some for other people in my family to enjoy (which I didn't feel bad about until now! :( ).

So after my mom and I got back home from the dentist, with all the pain going on in my teeth and in the left side of my head, and with half of my face (the same half) numb, I decided to get down to business and write out a detailed oath about how I was going to actually try and commit to living a much healthier, guilt-free lifestyle. I took out my favorite notepad, a pen, and my outside/nonrelevant thoughts, and started writing. As I wrote my list, some bullets appeared such as "Drink 5 cups of water/tea every day," "No poison, aka NO SWEETS!," and most importantly, "Make sure I respect myself in every single situation that I am in...because I deserve it." And as this list continued, broader yet equally important points piled on, like "call my friends/close acquaintances once/week" and "Don't follow every single fashion advice I read in GLAMOUR." When I was done writing, I knew that this time I wouldn't let myself or the people I love down, because I had become more determined than ever to change myself for the better in every way possible.

Now it's been 5 full days that I haven't eaten sweets (except a few nights ago I impulsively grabbed a pack of sandwich cookies while I was out, and when I got home I literally threw the pack at my sister begging her to eat them all before I wanted them again...Then two minutes later I took a cookie from her and ate half of it, then threw the other half away), as it's been a full week that I've done aerobics, and I'm already feeling like I accomplished so much! :)

So to people who have also suffered from an addiction to sweets like me, and to people who want to improve themselves, determination is the real drive to getting where you want to be.

Monday, April 6, 2009

So it's been almost three weeks since I had arrived in France, and I still find myself taking at least 30 seconds longer to find certain keys and numbers and such on this keyboard I'm typing on...Oh well :)I can't find words to describe my experience in France and how I've felt about it...and if I did find words they would stretch for miles! Last night I talked with my mom and sister on the phone for the first time in two weeks, and I ended up being on the phone for an hour and a half talking mostly about what I've seen and done in France...normally I don't talk on the phone for more than 10 to 20 minutes, so it was a little surprising for me :PAnyways, I don't want to make this blog stretch on for too long because I know I'd end up typing an essay on the trip...But I'll just talk about what I've done recently...I think I'll start with the highlight of today, which was eating a ginormous crepe by a fishing port in a city an hour away from Nantes...it was a foot in diameter, drizzled with chocolate fudge, decorated with whipped cream and topped in the center with a scoop of coconut ice cream...Oh My God it was amazing!! :D I took at least three pictures of it!Another highlight I guess was hearing songs on the radio that I actually recognized, aka American music, which was 90 percent of the songs the radio stations were playing. I mostly heard songs from Lady Gaga (whose songs I've kind of liked but "Just Dance" is starting to get annoying because it's been stuck in my head), Rhianna, Coldplay, and Katy Perry. Also, on the radio I heard "Lucky" by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat, which made me really happy, and also some hip hop songs I always hear but that I forget the names of...Okay, I'm going to go now because I think someone's cooking fish in the house and I don't want my nice clothes to smell, so I'm going to change my clothes and I don't know if the family would think me weird to wear my pjs to the dinner table...But oh well, I'll figure it out...